


guilt and duty and whatever

by eggfish



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Bodysharing, Gen, Liberal use of Italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggfish/pseuds/eggfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ling really shouldn't be bothering to pay so much attention to the meaningless details of its behavior, should be working on a way to get back in control. But being unable to do things - only to feel them - is awfully disorientating. He's not used to being disobeyed, especially not by his own body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	guilt and duty and whatever

**Author's Note:**

> Hi i wrote this over a year ago as an excuse to wrote lots of overly detailed descriptions without much plot and was very proud of it at the time but i'm not even going to reread it before publishing or i'll start editing everything so ENJOY

Ling's eyesight flickers: a blink. His eyeballs feel hot and dry, everything he sees either so bright or so dark that it's blinding. The coat on his shoulders is ill-fitting and heavy; the feeling of the coarse fabric against his arms is alien to him. Even the texture of his own skin is new as he rubs his thumbs against his fingers, feeling the roughness of calluses from sword training. He rolls his wrists and shoves his hands into his pockets. The smooth material of his trousers slides past his knuckles and he feels the weight of each hand come to settle past his waist. 

His field of vision sweeps dizzyingly around the room as he looks around. Apart from the cold electric light in the center, it's dark, furthest corners obscured totally by shadow. Pipes snake inwards to the dais in the center: a maze of stony glass beakers and retorts, a metal throne, a man sitting statuelike upon the throne. There is also an awful lot of rubble everywhere from the earlier battle. It rather destroys the room's atmosphere.

Ling is acutely aware of every muscle used as he turns in this surveyal. The placement of each foot on the ground, the shift in weight from heel to toe and back to heel, the tension in his shoulders as he hunches forward, the twist of his neck. Each step scuffs against the floor with a noise that feels as sharp as a gunshot.

Even his breathing is harsh and loud in his ears, and his throat is tight. Sensations are far more intense when there is nothing you can do about them.

There's a growl from his belly. Of course, hunger is the most noticeable sensation of all.

_Hey, monster. How about some food?_

 "It's Greed," the monster in his body mutters, and it doesn't reply any further. But it must feel the hunger too, because Ling's body stalks over to the throne, squinting as it stares up into the sterile light.

 There is no movement on the dais. The being on the throne is bleached of color, more stone than man. Ling knows that if he could access the Dragon's Breath he wouldn't find a man's life energy there.

 "Oi, Pops, is there any chance of a meal in this place?"

 The monster - Greed - takes its hands out of its pockets and straightens a little to ask this, and Ling is momentarily affronted at the thought that the body of a Prince of Xing should be respectful to this creature. But then, there's food at stake here.

The old man crooks a finger and it obediently hops up onto the dais. Ling feels the billow of fabric as his coat settles around him.

Suddenly the old man thrusts his palm out toward Ling - they're both surprised, Ling can feel his body tense up - and holds it there for a moment.

Then he lowers it again, having apparently done nothing, and resumes his pose on the throne. Odd.

"I've given your body the nutrients and energy it requires for further growth," the man says abruptly, peering down at them as one might at an animal that has gotten into something dirty, "so you shouldn't want for food now."

_What? I'm still hungry! Anyway, everyone knows you need some fiber in your diet. Come on._

Ling strains, and his little finger twitches - so close to regaining control. The old man doesn't appear to notice the conflict.

"You've just been recreated, so I will grant you some time to settle in," he continues. "The door over there" - he inclines his head in the direction - "leads out. I will send one of your siblings to collect you later." It's a dismissal. How rude.

The monster willingly steps back off the dais and heads for the door. Its strides are a little longer than Ling's would be, its posture is atrocious, it breathes through his mouth.

It starts to mutter something as it leaves, and Ling is slightly distracted by the buzz of the lower voice in his vocal chords. Even the words are formed differently in his mouth (no Xingese accent - an Amestrian monster?). Now they're out of earshot of the creature on the throne, its voice raises a little " - need money - power - fame - and food, not _nutrients_." It flicks Ling's fringe out of his face, seemingly irritated.

Ling really shouldn't be bothering to pay so much attention to the meaningless details of its behavior, should be working on a way to get back in control. But being unable to do things - only to feel them - is awfully disorientating. He's not used to being disobeyed, especially not by his own body.

"Not used to...? Oh, that's right," the monster muses as it walks, "you said something about being a prince. And - what was it? Emperor of Shing? You humans are so unambitious."

 _You can hear my thoughts now?_ Maybe he should go back to thinking in Xingese.

"Don't bother, kiddo, I get the meaning of your thoughts, not the actual words."

Ling decides to try out the reverse later - "Ha! Good luck reading _me_ " - but for now, he's noticed something else.

_Monster, you say you want money, power, and fame. So what's your issue with the Emperor of Xing bit? If you would just let me have my body back, I could get you all of that._

Ling's proposition is completely reasonable. Who turns down a position like emperor? Of course, he'd be the one in charge of running the country, but he could let the monster out to play once in a while if it would keep the thing quiet. It would be a small price to pay for -

" _Oi_ , kid, perhaps you'd like to have a little more respect for the guy who's renting you headspace? I'm not your pet. I'm _Greed_." The monster - fine, _Greed's_ voice has turned dangerously sharp. It's still fundamentally Ling's voice, though, so he can't really be afraid of it. Regardless, he's going to have to watch what he thinks from now on.

"Damn right you are," Greed says cheerfully. "Just give it up. I'm not interested in being emperor of a country. I have bigger fish to fry." 

They've reached a ladder, unexpected after the monotony of the concrete tunnel with its regularly spaced lightbulbs. Ling feels his eyelids ache as his vision swings upward. From the slope of the corridors and the height of the ladder, he would guess that the darkness in the center of his vision is somewhere on the surface, probably near the outskirts of Central. It's still afternoon, so somewhere inside. 

_Bigger fish like what?_

Ling feels his mouth curve into a smile. "Bigger fish like the whole _world_ ," Greed says, and for a moment as it reaches up to grab the first rung of the ladder Ling's hand is outlined pale and electric-lit against the pitch black above. The tattoo on the back is sharply defined.

_Sorry, but you're going to have to settle for Emperor. I can't give up on this. I owe it to Lan Fan and the others to succeed._

He can still remember too clearly the amputation of Lan Fan's arm. Not the way it happened - that was a blur he is glad not to recall - but he'd had to tie it to that dog, after. The wide, uncomprehending eyes of the dog, the adrenaline as his fingers fumbled with the knot, knowing Bradley could arrive at any moment - Lan Fan stumbling over, insisting, young master, I can do it for you, even though she only had one hand to tie the knot with -

He focuses on the cold square metal against his sweaty palms as each of his hands lifts in turn to grasp the rungs of the ladder. Lan Fan is safe now, anyway. He'll need to find a way to contact her soon.

He swallows. "Hey, can you keep it down in there, kid? I don't want a free tour of all your worst memories." Greed's version of his voice echoes slightly as they near the top of the ladder. "Your guilt and duty and whatever is so counterproductive. If she wanted to help you, that's her problem, not yours! And definitely not mine, so don't bother me about it."

It pauses for a moment to hoist itself up onto the floor above. "Really. You'll never get anything you want if you go around _owing_ people things."

 

\-----

 

Ling is meditating. Ling is perfectly calm, inwardly focused, metaphorical hands tucked into metaphorical sleeves, metaphorical legs crossed in a perfect (and metaphorical) lotus. Ling is conserving energy for a later time, and definitely not paying any attention to the situation his body and its current owner is in.

A situation which is honestly atrocious. If _he'd_ been the one walking around, he never would have forgotten how to get back to the military headquarters.

Wherever 'here' was, anyway. Some dingy side street, rubbish spilling out onto the dirty ground, the sun coming out from behind a cloud to glint identically bright off every rain-wet paving stone and make his headache just that little bit worse.

"You reckon that's the same phone box we saw the fullmetal-bean at?" Greed mutters, indicating the red box in front of them.

_Of course not. Do you know how many telephone booths there are in a city this size?_

"No," Greed says firmly. And after a moment - "There's a man inside. I'm gonna ambush him."

_What? Why?_

Greed moves nearer to the telephone booth. The man inside is just a shadow against the apple red of the paint flaking off of the metal. They watch as he hangs up, runs a hand through his hair, then turns to open the door.

Greed treads just a little closer, feet flat against the uneven cobbles.

The door swings open -

"Hey, excuse me," Greed says brightly, laying a hand on the man's arm as he turns to walk away. "Could you give us some directions on getting to the Military HQ from here?"

_That is not an ambush._

The man turns.

_Also, try not to use the royal we. It's reserved for people such as myself._

The man looks a little surprised to have been accosted by a random Xingese teen, but he gives them the directions, so it's pretty much fine.

"...So down that street and then right, yeah?" Greed points down something more like an alley, walls plastered with cartoons of anti-military sentiment yet to be whitewashed over.

Ling is impressed that the homunculus has managed to interact with another human in such a ...normal way, to be honest. He wouldn't expect a monster to ask for directions, usually.

The man nods and runs his hand through his hair again.

"Mm, that's right. And then up towards the big grey building in front... Hey, what's that on the back of your hand there?"

The man's eyes are fixed on the hand Greed had unthinkingly used to point. Fixed on the tattoo on the back of that hand - on the tattoo that signified the wearer was a homunculus - a homunculus, a freak that was beyond what alchemy should ever be able to achieve.

_Shit!_

The adrenaline that snaps through Ling's body washes straight through all his mental defenses, muddying up his thoughts into a kaleidoscope of contrast and conflicting priorities. He thinks again with feeling,   _shit_ , and then _sorry, mister, not your fault but looks like you'll need to die now_ , and _no, he's perfectly innocent-_

The man frowns. "A tattoo like that.. haven't I heard about that somewhere before?"

Ling feels Greed flex his other hand and a strange sensation crawls over his skin, eating at it like fire consuming a piece of paper. He glances down and sees dark claws where his fingers should be.

He looks back up to see a slow look of realisation start to dawn over the man's face - Ling's mind is flooded with cold killer instinct, he feels that dark hand draw back to slash the man's throat open-

-at the same time, desperately clawing through the weakened barriers that jail him in his own body, scrabbling for a fingerhold on his own flesh -

"- oh, that's right! It was the Flame Alchemist's gloves, wasn't it? Alchemical thingbob on the back of the hand? Oh, of course, you must be a state alchemist too. Gosh -" 

Ling finally forces himself back into his body, his mind sliding into it like a hand into a suddenly too-small glove. He feels the black substance covering his hand recede -

"- little blond boy, with the ponytail, I don't know when you got into town but you must have heard he's been fixing everyone's stuff - you know, for free - and I was wondering if you could spare the time -"

Ling bolts. "Sorry, military work only," he calls almost randomly over his shoulder as he sprints into the alley, little caricatures of soldiers swimming in his vision as he makes a left turn, right turn, shoes slipping on grotty tilework, left again and he careens into a blissfully dark dead end squeezed between two tall grey buildings.

The thud of his heart in his ears begins suddenly to deafen him; he slows, stops, slumps against the wall and lets gravity drag him to the ground. 

The energy pumping through his veins, making him feel so alive with fear just seconds before, is suddenly an intense assault on his thoughts and senses. It pulses out from his heart, up into his throat, and hammers at his skull until his thoughts shatter into incoherency and he loses control again.

"You didn't need to do that," Greed says reproachfully. "I have enough common sense to know when not to kill a guy."

_No you don't! You were going to maul him with your monster claws. I'm not letting you do that to innocent people._

Greed leans back against the wall, stretching his legs out comfortably on the uneven ground. "Well, kiddo, maybe if you hadn't stolen my body back out from under me you would've seen me put those claws away."

As if to demonstrate, the glossy, opaque substance slides over his skin again. First the fingernail, then down the tip of his index finger, forming a smooth shell over the print. Further, to where the finger joins the palm.

Greed idly turns his hand to catch the light, the interlocking scales flashing down all five fingers as they knit together to cover the whole hand and most of the wrist. The tattoo remains unchanged, the blood color a bright stain below the surface.

 _Those scale shapes,_ Ling thinks curiously. _Is that transmutation?_

"Dunno, probably," Greed says absently, watching the darkness smoothly unravel to reveal the pale flesh of his hand once more. "If it is, then I beat all those alchemists hands down - I don't have to use a circle or anything, do I now? It just happens when I want it to."

_Really? How did you even know to do it?_

"How do humans know they can walk? You just do it, right?" Greed shoots back.

 _...Actually, we have to learn walking._ Ling is a little lost for words on that one.

"Seriously? How do you meatbags survive past birth?" Greed wrinkles his nose, presumably at the concept of childhood. How much general knowledge did a monster have? Did Greed even know what a child was?

"Kid, of course I know what a child is." Greed shakes his head in disbelief and climbs to his feet. "Now then - ah, you got us lost, didn't you? I guess I can't blame you, since you're only a _child_ , after all." 

Ling wants very badly to argue on this point, but legal adulthood in Xing is sixteen years of age.

 

\-----

 

"This job is so boring. Oi, pipsqueak, entertain me, would you - hey, you awake?"

Ling has gotten a bit more adept at sensing Greed's consciousness now. The creature is prodding at his mind in a way that's really rather annoying.

_My name's not 'pipsqueak'. If I have to call you Greed, shouldn't you have to call me Ling? Don't you think that's fair?_

"Ehh, not really. Listen, this entire place - " he gestures around them at the tunnel that rings around Central like a noose, and Ling feels the bone chill of the air against his fingers " - is boring as _hell_."

He's right, actually. They've been assigned to do laps of the tunnel, presumably to keep out intruders; there are none, of course, because the tunnel is a well-kept secret to nearly everyone in the city. The chimeras ignore them unless they're being petted, Envy comes to bother them only occasionally, and Ling is doing his best to convince Greed to avoid the clones' area altogether.

"So beansprout, why don't you talk to me about something more interesting than how hungry or cold you are? Got any good memories?"

 _I have lots of nice memories of food to get your appetite going_ , Ling suggests hopefully.

"I'm not interested in food unless it's actually going to arrive in my belly," Greed says firmly. Ha, so he was hungry too. Ling supposed that they felt the same things, really. "Come on, give me a taste of the outside world. Getting stuck in a tunnel straight after being born - it's dull! I have hardly any memories of all my future possessions."

_Wait, you really have no memories beyond when you took over my body? You're not even a month old?_

"That's right. Check if you like, I don't lie." That seems to be a catchphrase of his, and he says it with odd pride. _I don't lie_. As if a monster could ever be trustworthy.

Ling prods experimentally at his mind, but it's difficult trying to remember things that happened to someone else, so he only gets a few scraps. The noodles he'd bought after leaving the undergound - the dark red ink of the Xingese message he'd sent to Lan Fan - petting a chimera's bony forehead. He recognises them all.

_So you're saying your head is empty? Sorry, but I don't think anything I do now will make you less of an airhead._

Greed bursts into laughter, the noise bouncing back and forth down the corridor until it's as distorted as his mind-voice.

"Ahh, it was a good idea to keep you around, kid. You're great entertainment."

 _More like you tried to get rid of me and failed_ , Ling replies smugly.

He shrugs. "I don't know, I thought it was intentional. You seemed like a good thing to have."

 _You don't_ know?

"Hey, I was being born. Kind of."

That brings them back to the original topic of conversation, and Ling thinks it might be a good opportunity to show Greed some of the many benefits of being Emperor, so he sends a memory over: one of his first visits to the main palace.

He skips through the formal bits and the bargaining, instead showing the opulence of the throne room, the meal, the silken robes, the view from the balcony facing out onto the valley. He'd been only thirteen then, and greatly impressed by the place. Twelfth in line for the throne was good, but not good enough for that kind of luxury on a regular basis.

"How big is that place?" Greed asks speculatively.

Ling gives him an estimate, and he whistles.

_If you'd like, we could go find my guards and start traveling back there right now. We'd be out of the country before your siblings even knew we were gone._

"Nope. No can do."

 _And why can't you do that?_ Ling asks patiently. _Do you really feel the need to stay here and waste away underground?_

"It's filial duty, isn't it? I've gotta be a good little boy and do what my father tells me." He taps the tattoo on the back of Ling's hand. "I owe him a little something for creating me, after all!"

 _Well, gosh, Greed, you'll never get anything you want if you go around_ owing _people things._

"Ha! Shut up, kid."

Ling probes the other's mind and finds that he's at least considering it. That's good. He can make progress on this front, even if he can't get his body back just yet.

That will have to wait a little longer.

 


End file.
